


Things you said...

by TheNextPage



Series: Draxlembe / The PSG Prompt Page [7]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sexy Fluff, Snapshots, Teasing, things you said
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 08:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNextPage/pseuds/TheNextPage
Summary: Things said with too much: space; time; other people, between them.





	1. I don’t think Schalke is that good…I’d rather play for Bayern

**Author's Note:**

> This was an amazing prompt over from TWD and it's easier to see this in the context of zombie au and walkie-talkies. But an excellent prompt is an excellent prompt. Here, it is remastered for these two.

“… I’m just saying, the legacy speaks for itself. Bayern would hands-down be my team of choice. To both support and to play for.” 

There was a strangled gasp, followed by a beat of silence over the line. Pres wondered what the hell Jules was doing.

“But they were my team… my home team…” he barely whispered over the phone.

Pres managed to stifle a gasp, entirely shocked that he had made such a slip. He remembered this, in their never-ending conversations and talks about their respective childhoods. And he had sworn that he would do his research on Jule’s hometowns and his boyhood idols Schalke.

“What I meant was…”

“No it’s fine. The legacy speaks for itself. I get it. You’re drawn to the prestige and allure… never-mind our history and the stories of our success. I get it.” He sounded entirely crestfallen, heartbroken that he had somehow failed to convey all that Schalke meant to him.

“Babe…” Pres didn’t want to imagine Julian that saddened.

“Presnel, it’s late. I… I have to go.” Jules didn’t wait for an answer before hanging up.

Exhaling loudly, Pres scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘Well that had ended terribly. And Jules sounded so sad…’ he thought to himself, pulling his laptop over to his lap and Googling the Schalke online store. ‘I’ll fix it Jules. I’ll fix it.’ He thought, clicking away.

 

Pres arrived at training the next day a little earlier. He wanted to loiter around to intercept Jules before the day started. 

When he saw his car pulling up, he perked up instantly. He strolled over to the door, swaggering exaggeratedly for full effect.

“Babe… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

There was a restrained smile across Jules face. He was trying so hard not to be impressed. But he was struggling, when Pres was standing in front of him wearing a replica Schalke training shirt, with Julian’s 10 on the chest.

“I know how important the club is for you. And I didn’t mean to downplay their success… so… are we cool?” Pres mock punched Jules in the shoulder.

Julian finally allowed himself to smile. How could he stay mad, when Pres had found the training shirt!! A replica of his training shirt!! 

“We’re good Presko.”

They started walking in to get ready for the day.   
“Nice shirt by the way.” Jules quipped lightly, biting his lip shyly.

“Oh yeah? Thanks. One of my favourite players from there. Absolute maestro.” Pres slung an arm around Julian’s shoulder, giving him a slight squeeze. “One day when I grow up, I wanna meet him. Maybe get him to sign my shirt. It’ll mean everything.”

Jules shoved Pres away, unable to contain his laughter. “Shut up!”

 

Pres arrived to training every day that week in different replica Schalke shirts, every one of them with Jules name and number on the back.

He had the traditional blue Gazprom shirt, but he even managed to find the vintage cut when Jules still wore #31. He wore the green and white VW branded shirt when Jules was #10. Presko really enjoyed the 2015/2016 black and green shirt. Jules particularly enjoyed Pres in the white and light-blue away kit from the 2015/2016 season. That was the day he got hit in the face with the ball… for some reason he wasn’t paying attention.

“Pres, are you hinting about a move?” Thiago asked at their last training session of the day. “All week, all I’m seeing is Schalke 04. If we didn’t have a big sign up, I may forget who we are.”

Pres had laughed, staring down fondly at the shirt he was wearing. He fished out another shirt – a long-sleeved blue toned training shirt. It had a #10 on the right of the chest. “What can I say, I love it.” 

He caught Jules eye from across the locker room, an overwhelming blush suffusing his cheeks in pink, light sparkling in his eyes, a barely restrained jubilant smile playing across his face.


	2. “I mean…an eagle is a little cooler than a chicken right? Like.. just agree”

Julian was pouring soup into a bowl in his kitchen. It was chilly and this was the perfect satisfying way to warm himself up.  
There was a long drawn-out exhale on the other end of the line.

“I’m not commentating on your nationality or culture… but with regard to emblems I think we can both agree that we have…”

“Jules, where do you live?” Pres cut in evenly.

“You know my place. I’m over in the 9th…”

“What club are you playing for?” Pres tone was measured and even.

“…”

Jules paused a moment to see if his answers really mattered or if this series of rhetorical questions was leading somewhere.

“And should I ask what language we’re speaking now…” Pres continued, unbothered by the silence. “So I don’t think that you and I are going to start debating national emblems. Knowing all those things you know about where you are and what club you play for and the language you’re speaking…”

Julian inhaled as if to continue speaking, but was stopped by Pres continuing, “I mean, we could get into the Coq Gaulois and traverse the history and symbolism. Hell, we could even get into how some might comment on the Bundesadler and how – some said - that led to a less than humble spirit amongst Germans of old…” Pres was so calm, so measured and deliberate in his speech, it was entirely unsettling. Julian would have known better how to react had he been yelling.

“Most importantly though, don’t you ever forget where my parents come from. That history and those places are as much a part of me as the bleu, blanc et rouge.”

Jules looked down at his soup with indifference, his appetite having shriveled up and died from the level dressing-down he was getting.

“You said you were having soup earlier. Don’t let it get cold frero. I’ll see you at training.” Pres voice was light and disaffected as he hung up.

Pres strolled through to the kitchen, his socked feet not even registering the cool tiles. He opened the fridge and pulled out a plate of plantain that had been fried just that afternoon. He tested the temperature with the back of his finger and found them too cold to eat as is. He placed a few onto a small plate before microwaving them for a moment. He stared back at his reflection, rolling his eyes at Jules careless speech. For someone so measured, Jules sometimes forgot to filter at the worst times.

 

Jules arrived at training the next day, looking as calm and composed as ever. But Pres could see there was something unsettled about him: beyond the faint circles around his eyes like he hadn’t slept well or was saddened. It was faint, lingering just below the surface: Jules wasn’t a hundred percent.

“Presnel can we…” Jules cocked his head towards the door, hoping Pres would come with him.

“You in trouble Kim? The principal used your full name there!!” Guffaws erupted around them. Julian’s face flushed red – he hadn’t meant to sound so formal.

“Eh, because he respects my name, unlike the rest of your scoundrels!!” Pres threw a towel in the general direction of the most raucous laughter.

Out in the hallway, Julian walked until he ducked into the first available room to his left.

“I’m so sorry. I never meant… you know I would never…  
Last night. After I got off the phone with you. I felt like an idiot. I sounded so vain… like as ass.”

“Oui, like an ass. Not your best moment.”

Jules bowed his head in contrition. “I did a lot of reading. A lot of things I didn’t fully know, fully understand. Not just about French history, but your history too. I… I’m sorry Pres. I should have never been so careless in my talking.”

Pres leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Good. What did you learn?”

Jules head snapped up as he blinked questioningly at Pres. “You mean the Haitian and Congolese association and history with France or about French history?”

“Any of it… all of it.” Pres shrugged, eager to hear what Julian had found.

“Presko… I couldn’t sleep mon gars. After I read, and I went from one site to another and another, articles and thesis and chapters… I was so sad. And angry. And I thought about where I’m from, and my history.” Julian cupped Pres’ face in his hands, trying to convey the sincerity of what he experienced last night. “I have so many questions. And I think so many new things now. But… but that’s not for me to ask you. I have to go and learn. There’s more than football… there’s so much life out there!”

Pres couldn’t help the smile that blossomed across his face. This close proximity to Jules was only adding to his joy. “Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible phone call after all then.”

 

Presko returned home after a good day at training, so find his Maman at the house, practically radiating excitement.  
“And then? What’s happening?” He kissed her cheek.

“NormAl didn’t call you? I was so thrilled when I received the news. This will mean so much.. to say many. I am absolutely moved…”

Presko quirked an eyebrow. “I do not know what you are thrilled about. What happened?”

“We received donations to three of our charities, the associations and your foundation. Large amounts… absolutely staggering. I mean, it’s as if we held a fundraiser in the middle of the night. It makes such a difference.”

Pres smiled, nodding as he made his way upstairs to get the day off of him. He had an idea who would have done such a thing. Clearly not a bad conversation after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a tiny nod to a retired Tumblr profile name i adored.


	3. I took your shirt...

Pres could have sworn he had packed that shirt. It was one of his favourites. He had worn it to training, packed it when he’d changed. Then they had gotten ready to travel. It should have still been in his bag.

He called Jules. He was the type of roommate who would have noticed had Pres forgotten something. He cleaned their room better than the maid service.

The phone rang briefly before Jules answered. “Hey Draxy! I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my shirt babe… I can’t find it.” Pres continued pulling shirts out of his training bag and rifling through his wardrobe drawers.

“Which shirt my Kim?” Jules asked.

Pres continued moving around, unwittingly turning on the video for his call. Jules popped up on his screen, seemingly receiving this call via his laptop which was sitting on the sumptuous walnut unit in his lounge upstairs. Jules was reclined in the minimalist lounger in the corner, AirPods in, controller in hand, wearing the shirt Pres was looking for.

Pres stopped short. He had so many questions. “That shirt Jules. My shirt that you’re wearing.”

Jules realised the video was up, but surprisingly, he did not erupt into a furious blush. He looked down at his shirt, smirked before looking up at Pres on his laptop screen. “I took your shirt.”

“I see that Jules.”

“It’s really soft. I like the colour.”

“It’s a white shirt Jules. You literally have hundreds of white shirts.”

“I do. And now I have one more.”

Julian was not flustered, he did not appear apologetic or even remotely contrite. He actually seemed unbothered.  
Pres stared at the screen, willing Julian to develop an ounce of shame. But Julian only paused his game, set the controller down and bit his lip, turning to look at Pres, looking at him.

“Do you want the shirt back?”

Pres rolled his eyes. But of course… why would he have called about it otherwise?!

“Yes Jules, I want my shirt back.”

Jules grinned wickedly, his lip still between his teeth. Grasping the hem of the shirt, he pulled the shirt out as if to appraise it. He rose, walking towards the screen as he gently dragged the shirt over his midsection. He continued slowly toying with the shirt in his hands before the screen, finally biting the shirt in a cheeky snarl in a corner of his mouth.

He tilted the screen back, snatches of his body visible. “Come get it Pres” he whispered past the material in his mouth. He closed the laptop lid, ending the call.

Pres stared at his phone, entirely stunned. He raised an eyebrow, scratched his nape slightly before he looked at this phone once more. He exhaled slowly, lips pursed in a pout.

‘Well then…’ Pres thought.


	4. I stole your shirt

Julian’s face crumpled into a picture of consternation. He had just finished his shower and was ready to change and unwind from the day.

Training had been brutal: after returning from international duty, coupled with fighting off a cold with potent home remedies to maintain his starting spot whilst he was in such good form, this week had worn him out. He had plans to get home, ask the chef and other domestic staff to leave him and no-one to bother him until at least Friday afternoon. He had a date with some quiet alone time.

All his blissful plans were scuppered to see Pres wearing his shirt, teasing Thilo.

Pres had made no move to get his shirt back from Julian although he had the shirt in his bag. Surely Pres would have seen it when he pulled that one out. It wasn’t even a new shirt. It was just a regular black shirt – his regular uniform really. Minimal detail. Julian liked the shirt for the subtle detail in the middle of the shirt: a laminated metallic silhouette of what appeared to be a three-towered industrial factory. To him, it was simple and beautiful.

And there was Pres, walking around in it. Everyone had seen Jules arrive wearing it. Pres knew it was Jules’… maybe this was revenge over the white shirt incident.   
They hadn’t spoken of it, not even after the phone call. Jules had dissolved into a nervous mess after he had ended the call with Pres. And when he had next seen him at training, Pres had made no mention of it except to stand very close in Jules private space, gazing at him whilst he bit his lip. It had been the most inoffensive yet wildly erotic thing Pres had ever done. Jules had smiled back, dared to lean forward and kissed Pres on the cheek as if in greeting. And that was all that was said and done.  
Until now, with this undoubted return-salvo being launched. 

Jules sauntered over to his locker, slowly getting dressed with what clothes he had left. Standing in his jeans and sneakers, he cleared his throat before calling out, “Presko… I’m sure you’re wearing my shirt.”

“Oui! I stole it.” He looked at the shirt and back at Jules. “It’s looks good right!” Pres continued, smiling. 

Julian had to nod in agreement – Pres looked devastating in the shirt coupled with his distressed black jeans. Effortless, nonchalant, cool. Julian licked his lips, looking away as naughty thoughts assailed him.

“Can I get it back? I wanna go home.”

Pres clapped Thilo on the shoulder, putting an end to their conversation. He strode across the locker room which still had a fair amount of people mingling around. He arrived at Julian’s locker and pressed up into his personal space.

“Take it off me Jules.” Pres whispered, low enough only for Jules hearing.

Pres lingered a moment, stepping closer into Jules, their bodies coming into contact, separated only by the shirt in question. He smirked, enjoying the wide-eyed pursed-lip non-answer from Jules.

Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on both of Jules cheeks. “Uh huh, that’s what I thought…”

He turned to leave, a jaunty swagger in his step. Jules reached out and grabbed his wrist. Drawing him back, he held onto Pres as he smiled back, worrying his lip for a moment. He finally made eye contact, reaching for the hem of the shirt.  
Jules fingers ghosted over the material, tracing the hem for a moment, before grabbing a handful of it. He toyed with it between his fingers – eyes still fixed on Pres, his other hand feeling Pres’ pulse speed up beneath his fingers. He inched the material up briefly, his knuckles grazing Pres skin. Jules didn’t even bite back his smile as he saw Pres’ pupils dilate, his mouth open in a surprised ‘Oh’. No doubt his own excitement was evident in his shallow breaths, his warm skin and minute movements towards Pres. With his fingers tracing Pres skin, Jules dropped the handful of t-shirt he held and ran his fingers over the inviting warmth of Pres sculpted midsection. 

Jules sighed, closing his eyes briefly in pure want. Opening them again slowly, his neck rolling to follow the gentle head scratch Pres had started, he opened his mouth to speak, closed it again and had to actively swallow – his mouth was so dry. And then he tried again.

“I think you should keep it.” He paused to gather himself, closing his mouth before the sensations swimming over his skin tumbled out as the moan he could feel at the base of his skull. “It looks good on you.”

Pres was watching the various emotions play across Jules' face, engrossed in the small sighs and quirks of his lips. Smiling, he nodded slowly before taking a step back. He instantly noticed the loosing of Jules hands on his body, missing Jules skin on his. “So you don’t want to take it off me Jules?”


End file.
